


The Ballad of Hamish and Jacques

by boomsherlocka



Series: Whatever Remains [2]
Category: Outlander (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Outlander crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 14:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12278742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boomsherlocka/pseuds/boomsherlocka
Summary: Jacques comes to visit the Watsons after they have settled in France.





	The Ballad of Hamish and Jacques

**Author's Note:**

> This is a follow up to my story Whatever Remains. If you haven't read that, you definitely won't understand this.

The morning dawned bright, lighting up the fields so that they shown golden. The Watsons had worked hard to cultivate the rows of grapes; It had taken a few years before they produced a crop that yielded anything of substance. The first meager offerings were given to Little Hamish and William in turn. The dark purple fruit had stained their mouths but they ate enthusiastically.

 

The next crop was made into wine. It had been a trial and error process to produce a wine that was not too tart, but soon enough Hamish and Ailith had become rather well known for their sweet, dark red wines. It was novel how two Scots, a brother and a sister, could produce such pleasant French wine.

 

Hamish was always up first, walking the rows to make sure no damage had occurred overnight. He had run off countless rabbits, so it didn't take long before he began to bring a little bow with him to hunt the intruders. They made for good stew, and the children loved the dolls Gavina made with their soft hides.

 

This morning was special. Hamish knew that Jacques would be in with the tides and would be at their doorstep mere hours after landfall. Hamish had set aside a casket specifically for the celebration to mark his return.

 

Jacques had been away for nearing a month. His visits had always been rather sparse in the past, but recently they had begun to be more frequent. He would play with the children, speak to them in French phrases they had little trouble understanding. Hamish was always frustrated by his lack of comprehension, but Jacques was patient. He would translate most things in his halted English. He told the little boys about his voyages on the sea, mostly of the creatures he had seen and the people he had met. Little Hamish and William were charmed by the Frenchman, and Hamish could not deny that he was as well.

 

When Jacques would visit, Hamish would give up his bedroom and take to sleeping on the floor near the banked coals of the fireplace. Jacques would always protest, insist that he had slept in much worse places, but Hamish would not budge. It was Jacques' home, after all, and he deserved a bed at the very least. He deserved much more than that. He deserved extensive repayment for everything he had granted Clan Watson when he allowed them to live on and farm his family's land. He would take only what he was owed, however, and refused anything more than that. It never stopped Hamish from trying to give him more at every opportunity. Jacques would always smile his blinding, perfect smile and shake his head. “Non,” he would say softly, resting a sea-weathered hand on Hamish's shoulder. “But I thank you.”

 

Jacques had written a few days in advance to warn of his visit, so many preparations were underway. Hamish had done what he could to quell his excitement but it didn't stop Ailith from eyeing him knowingly as she crushed grapes beside him. It didn't stop the boys' excited chattering about great fish and mermaids. It didn't stop Gavina's baking. Everyone was looking forward to Jacques' visit, and Hamish only hoped that the feeling was mutual.

 

He tried not to think about how much he missed the other man while he was away. His visits were never quite long enough, and Hamish was not entirely sure that Jacques understood just how much Hamish enjoyed his company. He wanted to tell him, had started to tell him many times, but he could never quite find the right words.

 

He tried to show him with actions instead. He always took great care of Jacques' horse, whom he treasured greatly. He carried Jacques' bags for him, served him first at meals, listened just as intently to his stories as the boys. He tried to learn French, and would take any given opportunity to practice the language with villagers or the children. The villagers seemed amused by the Scotsman and his remarkably strange accent, but they were patient with him. More patient, he thought, than he himself would be under similar circumstances. For this he was grateful.

 

Jacques was coming to check up on the crops and to observe the wine making process they had perfected. Jacques' family had been in the business for generations before he had inherited the vineyard. His heart had always belonged to the sea, however, and he made the difficult decision to let the fields go fallow as he pursued his passion. The grape vines had grown twisted and wild, and few of them could be saved. Jacques had been by a few times before, but the visits were usually brief, only long enough to water his horse and perhaps share a meal with the family. Only occasionally did he spend the night. Hamish always wished that he could stay longer, but he never asked him to. He didn't want to seem too forward or pushy; He didn't want to jeopardize his family's chances at having a place to stay and farm during their time in France.

 

Hamish waited. For what, exactly, he did not know. He waited for Jacques to arrive and decide that, perhaps, he wanted to stay longer than the cursory night. He waited for Jacques to wish to spend more time with the family, wanted Jacques to feel welcome and appreciated by the lot of them. All signs seemed to support that idea, that Jacques genuinely enjoyed their company and wanted to spend more time with the Watson's. He seemed especially fond of the children.

 

Hamish had asked, once, if Jacques had ever considered children. He had been sitting in the floor, playing with a set of wooden blocks with Little Hamish, William in his lap. Jacques' face had bore a complicated expression before he finally shook his head. “No,” Jacques had replied, his expression settling on something wistful. “Children, they are not for men like me.”

 

Hamish had not quite known how to respond to such a statement. He shook his head slightly as he mulled over the words. They could mean a great many things, and Hamish did not feel it was his place to ask for clarification on the matter. Finally, when the silence grew too loud, he said, “If children are for men like me, they are for men like you also.” Jacques' smile was not quite as bright as they usually were, but it was there.

 

“Oh yes?” Jacques asked him, his tone gone playful. “And what sort of man are you, Mr Watson?”

 

Hamish felt a hot flush in his cheeks and he shrugged his shoulders, his eyes trailing from Jacques' face to the face of his son, who was currently teething on one of the wooden blocks. “I am not sure. Perhaps you can answer that question for me some day, once you know me better. Consider it, I suppose, and get back to me with an answer.”

 

Jacques nodded, taking the request very seriously, it seemed. Hamish had not brought up this conversation again in the handful of visits that had transpired in the meantime, but he did notice Jacques watching him more carefully, which always left a strange feeling in his stomach when he considered it too closely.

 

 

Jacques arrived shortly before the lunch hour, looking windswept. His cheeks were bright and chapped. Little Hamish was the first to reach him, dancing from foot to foot as he waited for Jacques to dismount. William's approach was much slower, but he had his arms raised and he was squealing with excitement. His gingery-blonde curls flew wildly around his head.

 

Jacques dismounted, leading his horse to the paddock where there was food and water waiting for him. Only then did he reach down to sweep the children up in his arms, spinning the around as they let out excited shrieks. His laughter was contagious and Hamish couldn't help his own chuckle at the sight. He knew his sister and Gavina were similarly affected. Soon they were all headed into the kitchen for lunch and Hamish quickly sank into a spot at the side of the table, leaving the head of the table open for Jacques.

 

Jacques always balked at being the center of attention initially, but once he started talking and had consumed a few drinks his storytelling grew more animated. The warmth that Hamish felt toward the man intensified as he listened to him lapse into French when he forgot the English equivalent of words when he grew too excited. Jacques would catch his eye occasionally and quickly look away, his expression one bordering on shame. Hamish did not like this expression on the other man's face one bit. He took to offering Jacques a smile of his own when their eyes would meet, and slowly the other man began to return it in kind.

 

After lunch came the cursory walk through the vineyard, which brought about a wistful silence in Jacques that Hamish struggled to counteract. “We're doing very well this year, the vines are heavy with fruit,” Hamish said, stopping to lift a nearly ripe bundle to show Jacques.

 

“Is very good, yes,” Jacques said, tucking a lock of his inky brown hair behind his ear. He wore his hair loose, which drove Hamish to distraction. Hamish himself had been tempted to loosen the leather band that held back his hair, but he didn't. “Grapes are beautiful, you do very good with this land. Impressed.”

 

Hamish nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. “We've put in a lot of work. It's good to see it paying off.”

 

Jacques offered him a small smile before moving on back toward the barn where they made the wine. “The smell is sweet,” Jacques said softly, turning his face toward the sky. “Reminds me of when I was small. Ate many grapes. My hands stayed red.”

 

Hamish grinned, enjoying the thought of a young Jacques darting through the rows of grapes, eating his fill of the sun-warm fruit. He rarely spoke of his childhood but by his expression and tone, Hamish was certain it had been a pleasant upbringing. “Little Hamish and William could strip an entire vine easily if given the opportunity,” he said with a little shake of his head. “They love it here, and for that I am glad.”

 

Jacques hummed, his fingertips trailing the tops of the vines. “It was a good place to be a child,” he agreed, looking back over his shoulder at Hamish with a smile nearing his usual brightness. “I miss it very much.”

 

“You could always come back, of course you are welcome to,” Hamish said quickly, trying not to punish himself too severely for the eager outburst.

 

Jacques sighed. “Things... things are very different now. I am not having my family. I miss how things were when I was small, not so much this place.” He was silent for a few moments before he added. “Is good the place has a family now, there are more happy memories again. This is good, very good.”

 

Hamish did not know what to say to that, so instead he rested a hand on his shoulder. “Many happy memories, yes,” he finally said. “Now, do you feel up to crushing some grapes?”

 

Jacques laughed, throwing his head back. “Yes, of course. I have much practice at this.”

 

Ailith joined them for this, capturing the juice in casks and labeling them accordingly. Jacques tired faster than Hamish, which was to be expected. He had been a little out of practice at the task, after all.

 

When they were finished with that task Hamish insisted that they return to the house. “You are a guest, after all, we shouldn't work you too hard.”

 

“I do not mind,” Jacques said with a shrug. “But I am not saying no to a rest.”

 

When they made it back to the house they boys were taking naps and Gavina was out working in their garden. This left Hamish, Ailith and Jacques alone. Ailith was quick to distribute beer to everyone and Jacques drank with a little wrinkle forming on the bridge of his nose.

 

“Do you not like beer?” Hamish asked with a fond smile.

 

“No, no, is fine!” Jacques was quick to say, resting the mug on his knee. “Is good, very good.”

 

Hamish raised his eyebrow but held out his hand for the mug. “I'll get you wine instead, it's no problem.”

 

Ailith muttered something under her breath about the French, but Jacques couldn't help his relieved sigh as he held out the mug. “Wine is much better,” he admitted.

 

Hamish made quick work of pouring Jacques' beer into his own mug before replacing it with wine from the casket they had set aside for Jacques' arrival. This he was much more eager to drink. “Better?” Hamish asked with a grin, and Jacques did not hesitate to return it.

 

“Much,” he said before licking the wine from his lips. Hamish forced himself to look away but was instead met with Ailith's gaze, which was questioning. Hamish frowned at her and she rolled her eyes at him before returning to her own beer.

 

They drank in silence for a bit before Jacques brightened. “Ah, I must show you something tonight, Hamish,” he said. Hamish couldn't stop the grin on his face that surfaced every time Jacques said his name. It sounded like 'Haim-eesh', and it never failed to amuse him. He could try to correct his pronunciation, but he preferred it the way it sounded coming from Jacques' mouth. “What is it?” Hamish asked, but Jacques shook his head, clicking his tongue.

 

“Cannot tell you, is a surprise,” Jacques said before taking another drink of his wine. “You will like, I promise.”

 

Hamish nodded, feeling his ears heat. “I'm sure I will,” he said with a grin, swirling his beer in his glass. He was reminded of when he had taken Sherlock to meet _Ruadh_ at his farm back home in Scotland and ignored the painful thump of his heart. Everything had changed there on the riverbank, and he had the fondest memories of what had followed.

 

He looked back at Jacques and took a steadying breath, trying not to let his mind follow that particular path.

 

Jacques excused himself and it didn't take Ailith long to round on Hamish, her brow deeply furrowed. “You must put that boy out of his misery Hamish, for your sake as well as his,” she whispered fiercely. “He had wanted you from the moment we stepped foot on that ship. What on earth has taken so long, surely you are not still waiting on the Sassenach to reappear?”

 

Hamish let out a frustrated huff. “Of course not. I only... I have not been sure. He hasn't given me clear indication that he prefers the company of men, and we have quite a lot at stake if I am wrong. I... I am not comfortable moving first. We will be homeless if my presumption angers him.”

 

Ailith shook her head. “If you are waiting for that boy to make the first move we'll be waiting until you are fluent in his language,” she muttered.

 

“So I will wait until then,” Hamish said with a shrug. “I am in no rush. I am a patient man. I have my family, I have want for nothing else.”

 

Ailith arched a fine brow. “You do want for more, you cannot deny that. There is nothing wrong with wanting companionship. Speak to him at the very least, see if he is interested in family. We could offer him this, at the very least. I know he is fond of children, perhaps...” her words were cut off, however, by William's wail and shortly thereafter by Jacques' return.

 

Jacques was quick to pick William up from Ailith's arms, bouncing the little boy in his arms. “He favors you greatly,” he said softly to Hamish. “Handsome boy.”

 

Ailith made a soft sound in the back of her throat. “I'll go check on Gavina, make sure she's getting on alright.”

 

Hamish watched her go with a deep frown but soon returned his attention to Jacques. “I am thankful he was a son. Lying with Gavina was very strange. She is like a sister to me.”

 

“But she is you wife,” Jacques said, shaking his head with a little frown. “You love her very much, no?”

 

“I do love her, that is true,” Hamish said. “But I do not love her as one should love a wife, even though she is my wife. She and my sister would prefer to be wed if they were allowed to do so. This way Gavina has some claim to the family business and officially has a say in matters, even if she doesn't have an opinion on most things. She is happy with the children and the little family we have here.”

 

Jacques was quiet. William had his fingers tangled in his long, straight hair, chattering happily to himself. Hamish made a point to not study Jacques too closely, afraid of what he might find in his expression. After what seemed like ages Jacques took a deep breath, bouncing William again. “This sounds like a good family,” he said, his eyes bright as he smiled down at the little boy.

 

“It is a good family,” Hamish agreed. “And you helped us so much by giving us a place to live. We will never be able to repay you, not as long as we are living.”

 

William kicked his legs, whimpering to be let down, and Jacques knelt to do so. William tottered over to the rabbit-fur doll that sat on the floor near the wooden chair that Hamish favoured. Jacques stood back up, resting his hands on his hips. “Good families deserve help,” he said with a shrug. “I had a good family once, but they are gone. This place, she needed a good family. You come along and I think this is it, this is the family that the vineyard deserves. I am right, I am always right.”

 

“No one is always right,” Hamish scoffed. “Not even you, Mr Lestrade.”

 

Jacques chuckled, picking up his mug and finishing off his wine. “Soon you know me better and you learn the truth. I am right, always. You will see.”

 

Hamish shook his head, taking his mug from him. “More wine? Gavina will be starting dinner soon.”

 

“Ah,” Jacques said, holding up a finger. “I was thinking I could cook, maybe. I am good cook, make you something that tastes very good. You remember this, yes?”

 

Hamish did remember the stew that Jacques had made aboard the ship, even if those memories were tempered by the terrible remembrance of Little Hamish going overboard. “Barely,” Hamish said with a playful smirk. “You will have to remind us.”

 

Jacques did not take the challenge lightly. He prepared something he called coq-a-vin with roasted leeks and potatoes. It had taken quite a lot of convincing for Gavina to relinquish control of the kitchen, but she eventually settled down in the living room with the children. She nursed William and listened to Ailith recount an amusing account of her last trip into the village.

 

Hamish was more interested in watching Jacques work his magic in the kitchen. He had made quick work of cleaning and preparing the chicken for their meal and soon had it roasting away in wine. Hamish had not been granted the opportunity to watch him work the last time Jacques had offered them a meal, but he was thankful for the opportunity now. Jacques was fast and efficient, making quick work of the chopping required for preparation. He sang to himself in French as he worked, and Hamish was more than content to just watch and listen to his smooth baritone.

 

“What are you singing?” Hamish finally asked after hearing the word amour for the fifth time.

 

Jacques smiled, shaking his head slightly. “It's only an old love song my mother used to sing to me. Is nothing special.”

 

“It sounds special,” Hamish said, smiling slightly. “There's a lot of love in that song. I do know that word.”

 

“Say it,” Jacques requested, going still as he looked up from the food sizzling on the stove. “If you know the word, say it for me.”

 

Hamish coloured. “My accent...”

 

“Your accent is fine,” Jacques scoffed, shaking his head. “Come on, I want to hear this.”

 

Hamish could feel his cheeks heating even further and he sighed. “Fine. Amour.”

 

Jacques' smile was blinding and he lowered his eyes back to his preparations. “This was good. Very good. You are sounding more French every day.”

 

Hamish nodded. “Good, that's my goal, sounding more French. I want to blend in.”

 

“You are too special to blend in too much,” Jacques said, pulling the chicken from the flame. “Stay a little different, yes? For me?”

 

Hamish's initial reaction was to say 'anything for you', but he caught himself before he said it. Instead he nodded. “I'll keep the accent, how's that?”

 

Jacques wiped his hands on his trousers before bringing the hot pan to the table. He then brought over the potatoes and leeks. “Is there any bread? A meal isn't complete without a nice piece of bread.”

 

Hamish walked over to the bread basket, carrying it over to the table while Jacques brought over the wine.

 

Dinner was delicious, and they did not hesitate to tell Jacques so. He blushed deeply at the praise but thanked them graciously as they ate. “Is good, yes,” he said softly as he took another bite himself. The wine was consumed quickly and they were all pleasantly warm with it as they finished off the meal, lingering around the table.

 

Soon enough, the children were tucked away in bed and Gavina was spinning in the corner, Ailith nursing a beer as she watched her with a fond smile on her face. Jacques settled down with his hands pressed between his knees, glancing over to Hamish every once and a while.

 

“What did you want to show me?” Hamish asked him, smoothing his fingertips along the crisp pleat of his kilt. Jacques watched the movement of his hand and made a soft sound, shifting in his seat. His gaze flicked up to Hamish's face, his brown knitted.

 

“Oh, I am not so sure you will be liking it,” Jacques said, shaking his head. “Maybe we will just stay here.”

 

Hamish could feel Ailith's gaze burning the side of his head, but he ignored her, standing instead. He held out his hand for the other man. “Show me, of course I want to see. When it is safe for us back in Scotland there are a great many things I wish to show you. You grew up here, you know her secrets.”

 

Jacques hesitated but took his hand. Hamish could have sworn he saw Jacques' cheeks heat, but the lighting was too poor for him to be sure. “Okay,” he said as he stood, swaying closer to Hamish before he righted himself. “I will show you, yes. I hope you like it.”

 

“I'm sure I will,” Hamish replied, dropping Jacques' hand. “Don't wait up for us,” he said to Ailith, who arched a brow but didn't say anything. “We'll be up first thing to check on the crops. Jacques may want to cook breakfast too, if we're lucky.”

 

“Yes, of course,” Jacques said with a nod. “I cook, I enjoy this.”

 

“You have no argument from me,” Gavina said, looking up from her weaving. “I will help if you need it, of course, but you seem to know your way around the kitchen quite well.”

 

Jacques offered her one on his too-bright smiles as he lead Hamish to the door. “I am having a lot of practice, yes,” he said, opening the front door. “Breakfast in the morning.”

 

“You boys have fun,” Ailith cooed, lifting her glass in a mock cheers.

 

Hamish rolled his eyes and Jacques colored a bit as they went outside.

 

Jacques set off toward the barn and Hamish followed. “The air smells so different here,” Hamish said, his eyes drifting from Jacques' back to the sky. “The air smelled of wheat at home.”

 

“Here it is sweet like fruit,” Jacques said with a nod. “Smells heavy. Thick, almost. Like the sea. You can taste the sea when you breathe. I love this.”

 

“You and I will have to beg to differ on the subject of the sea,” Hamish said with a little shake of his head. “If I never step foot on a ship again it will be too soon.”

 

“You must if you wish to go home,” Jacques said, glancing back over his shoulder. “You want to stay here forever? I do not mind.”

 

Hamish smiled into the darkness. “Perhaps,” he said softly. “We shall see.”

 

Jacques was silent, his pace through the field not slowing. He easily opened the barn door and held it open for them both, leading them to the back of the darkened barn. There was a ladder that lead to a loft there. “Up,” Jacques said, pointing upwards. “You first.”

 

Hamish nodded, grateful that the moon was bright enough for him to see. He climbed up the ladder and settled down in the hay, waiting for Jacques to join him. He closed his eyes and listened to the soft sounds of Jacques' approach. The creak of the ladder, his soft breaths, the rustle of the hay as he crawled closer.

 

“We are looking up,” Jacques said, settling back on the palms of his hands as he looked up. Sure enough, there was a hole in the thatched roof, and visible through it was the bright white moon and sparkling stars. “See?”

 

“It's beautiful,” Hamish said with a little smile, forcing himself to not look over to Jacques.

 

Jacques hummed. “I come here often, when I was small. Lay in the soft hay away from everything and look at the stars. Imagine that I am in the middle of the ocean, sailing to places I have never seen. Places as beautiful as the stars.”

 

Hamish settled down on his back, folding his hands behind his head. He caught sight of a shooting star and glanced over to Jacques, who was pointing skyward. “I saw it too,” Hamish said, crossing his legs at the ankle. “Did you make a wish?”

 

Jacques nodded. “I did, yes. A very good wish.”

 

“I hope it comes true,” Hamish said, bumping his knee against Jacques' side.

 

Jacques sighed in the darkness, and Hamish saw the tension in his shoulders. They were quiet for a moment and Hamish was about to speak again but Jacques moved, letting his hand settle on Hamish's knee.

 

Hamish was afraid to move. He was afraid to say anything, afraid he would scare Jacques away. He swallowed thickly, closing his eyes. Jacques made to pull his hand away but Hamish made a soft sound, his hand shooting out to catch it. “Don't,” he said softly, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears.

 

“If you are not liking it just say, I understand. Is no problem, we can forget this, please.” Jacques' voice was quick, his tone broken as he tugged his hand away from Hamish's.

 

“I meant don't stop,” Hamish replied, sitting up. He studied Jacques' profile and how he twisted his hands together in his lap. “I didn't want you to stop touching me.”

 

Jacques' inward breath was shaky and he looked over to Hamish, his eyes wide and dark in the moonlight. He opened his mouth and closed it again quickly, clearly not sure what to say. After a moment he reached out again, his fingers curling into the flesh of his knee again. Hamish let his leg fall closer to the other man, holding his breath as he felt his fingertips smooth over the soft skin of his inner thigh.

 

Hamish licked his lips, letting out the breath he had been holding. He sat up fully so he could reach out, smoothing his hand across Jacques' shoulder blades before letting it settle at the small of the other man's back. “You can have whatever you want,” he said softly.

 

“I am not so sure what I want,” Jacques said, even as his fingertips traced circles across the skin right above Hamish's knee, just below the hem of his kilt. “But I know this, Hamish. I know you ask me to tell you what sort of man you are. You remember this, yes? And you are a good man. The best sort of man. You deserve much happiness, you deserve everything.”

 

Hamish nodded, his eyes tracing the outlines of Jacques' face in the bright moonlight. He spread his fingers out over the soft fabric of Jacques' shirt, feeling his warm skin underneath. Jacques felt unbearably hot, feverish under his palm. “So do you,” Hamish said, finding it very difficult to stay still.

 

Jacques let out a breathless laugh, turning towards Hamish. His dark brown eyes were heavy on Hamish's face, trailing from his eyes to his lips. There were so many words in his expression, but instead of speaking he leaned forward, pressing his lips against Hamish's.

 

Hamish let out a soft sound, raising a hand to cup Jacques' cheek as he deepened the kiss, sliding closer to his body. Jacques' entire body shuttered and before Hamish fully understood what had happened Jacques was in his lap, arms draped around Hamish's shoulders. He rocked down against Hamish's body and the pressure against his manhood was too much to ignore.

 

Jacques pulled back enough to kiss down Hamish's neck, his tongue pressing against Hamish's skin. Hamish slipped his hands underneath Jacques' shirt, sinking his nails into his soft flesh as their bodies rocked together. Hamish could feel Jacques' own hard length against his stomach and he ached to have it in his hands, in his mouth, against his bare skin, anywhere. He licked his his lips and tugged at Jacques' shirt, pulling it over his head.

 

Jacques ducked down as the fabric was tugged over his head, his loose dark hair falling to his shoulders in a smooth wave. Jacques went for Hamish's tunic next, tossing it aside as he smoothed his hands down Hamish's back. His hands slowed when he ran into the raised scar tissue that marred his back and Jacques pulled back a bit so he could meet Hamish's gaze. “What happened to you?” he asked softly, his rope-calloused hands coming to settle on Hamish's cheeks.

 

“I was whipped when I was quite young, I have been well for a long time,” he replied, leaning into Jacques' touch. “You don't have to worry about hurting me, not at all.”

 

Jacques leaned forward to kiss him again, keeping his movements slow, the press of his hips matching the smooth press of his tongue. They kissed like that for a while, rocking together under the stars, before Jacques pulled away, reaching for the buttons of Hamish's trousers. He bit his lip as he looked up at Hamish, a question in his gaze.

 

“Yeah, of course,” Hamish said, smoothing his hands over Jacques' sloping shoulders. “Whatever you want, Jacques, I am yours completely.”

 

The moment that those words left his mouth he knew that he meant them. He knew that they were as true as the moon was bright. When he felt Jacques' fingers around him, stroking him, he knew that he was in love.

 

Hamish lost track of time when Jacques touched him. His own hand had found its way into Jacques' trousers and they were stroking each other with the same frenzied rhythm. Hamish's muscles were twitching as his hips surged upward into Jacques' hand, and Jacques' mouth was open against his neck as he panted out his own pleasure.

 

It didn't take long, not for either of them. It had been a long time since Hamish had been touched and Jacques was young and eager. Soon they were spilling into each other's hands, the sound of their harsh panting loud in the loft where they lay together. They kissed until Hamish was dizzy and had to lie down, Jacques curled up at his side.

 

Hamish didn't remember when he fell asleep. His last memory was of the stars and of warmth at his side.

 

 

 

 

After breakfast Jacques packed his things slowly, moving through the house like a wraith. The children watched him with tears in their eyes, asking him to stay in three languages in the hopes that one of them would get through to the man.

 

Hamish watched silently, afraid that if he spoke up he would never stop.

 

Soon, too soon, Jacques was at the door, his bag draped over his shoulder. “Goodbye,” he said softly, not quite meeting Hamish's eyes when he did so.

 

“Safe travels,” Gavina said as she soothed William, who was fussing and reaching for Jacques. Ailith was out working the fields as Hamish would have been had Jacques not have been there.

 

“Thank you,” Jacques said, his smile watery as he looked at her. His young face seemed troubled as he turned to Hamish, letting out a long, slow breath.

 

Hamish swallowed thickly, stepping forward. “You'll come back,” Hamish said, not quite a question.

 

Jacques nodded quickly. “Yes, of course. I will come as soon as I can.”

 

“Good,” Hamish said, unable to stop himself from reaching out to touch Jacques. His hand slid from his shoulder to his forearm where it settled. Jacques' free hand settled over Hamish's and they stood like that for a while, just watching each other, neither wanting to make the first move.

 

Ultimately it was Jacques, who leaned forward to press his forehead against Hamish's loose hair. They breathed together for a moment before Jacques' lips brushed against his and Hamish's skin sang. He wrapped an arm around Jacques' waist, tugging him closer. They held each other for a while. Hamish was the first to step away. “You'll miss your ship,” he said, his voice low and rough.

 

Jacques colored at the sound of him but nodded, hitching the bag higher on his shoulder. “I will be back soon, this I promise,” he said. His smile was wide as he studied Hamish's face, seemingly trying to memorize his features. Hamish couldn't help his returning smile, feeling lighter than he had felt since their arrival in France.

 

Jacques left, casting one final glance over his shoulder at Hamish with a little wave as he rode away.

 

There was no doubt in Hamish's mind that Jacques would return.

 

And he did.

 

 

 


End file.
